Oval Office Insurgency

January 6, 2020 

The storming of the capitol was like my gynecology appointment. An early arrival, asking of the same questions. (I don’t know how my parents medical history could change since they’re dead.) 

A pile of crumpled clothes on a cold metal chair. Panties tucked in a pocket, the object of the gravy seals desire left unaccompanied as I dart across the hall to the bathroom. 

Then, as I lay on the exam table in a hospital gown with a drape on my lap, men and women smashed glass. It was like a speculum prying open my vaginal walls to be inspected. 

An uprising, expected but not welcomed, brought light to indignity.  Our Capitol allowed this invasion in order to prove it is still fit and will last through petty piety and rifling of drawers. 

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